Chapter 9
BUREAUCRACY
Zane went to work on his backlogged case load. He was continuing to grow more proficient, orienting on a given soul anywhere in the world well within the time his Deathwatch showed. Even so, he found himself becoming increasingly thoughtful about the nature of his office. Death was not the calamity of life, but a necessary part of life, the transition to the Afterlife. The tragedy was not dying, but dying out of turn, before the natural course of a given life was run. So many people brought their terminations upon themselves by indulging in suicidal endeavors, getting into strong mind-affecting drugs, or tampering with black magic. Yet he himself had been as foolish, trying to kill himself because of his loss of a woman about whom he no longer cared.
In a way, he realized, he had not really been living until he left his life. He had been born again, in death.
Now, as he got well into the office of Death, he began to believe he could fill it well. It was intent, more than capacity, that made the difference. Probably, his predecessor could have done a superior job — but hadn't bothered. Zane had less ability, but a strong desire to do right. He did not have to be a specter. He could try to make each person's necessary transition from life to Afterlife gentle. Why should anyone fear it?
Of course, he was still in his initiation period. If the powers that were didn't approve his performance, his personal balance of good and evil would suffer, and he would be doomed to Hell when he left the office. But as far as he knew, he could not be removed from the office by any other power. Not as long as he was careful. So if he was willing to damn his soul, he could continue indefinitely, doing the job right.
Yes, that was it. 'Damn Eternity!' he swore. 'I know what's right, and I'm going to do it. If God damns me or Satan blesses me, then it's too bad, but I've got to have faith in my own honest judgment.' Suddenly he felt much better; his self-doubt had been ameliorated.
His current client was underground, in the general vicinity of Nashville, the rustic song capital. This was no problem for Mortis, who merely phased down through the ground, carrying Zane along. He saw the strata of sand, gravel, and different kinds of rock, until he reached a sloping shaft through a vein of coal and came to the chamber where two miners had been trapped by a recent cave-in. There was no hope for them; air was limited, and it would take days for others to clear the shaft of rubble.
It was completely dark, but Zane could see well enough. It seemed his office imbued him with magic vision, so that mere blackness could not stay him from his appointed rounds. The men were lying against a wall of rubble, conserving their strength and breath; they knew there was no way out.
'Hello,' Zane said, feeling awkward.
One of the miners turned his head. The pupils of his eyes were enormous as they tried to see — and, of course, Zane became apparent, magically. 'Don't look now,' the man murmured, 'but I think we're about to cash in our green stamps.'
Of course the other looked and saw. The caped skull!
'That's Death!'
'Yes,' Zane said. 'I have come for one of you. 'You've come for us both,' the first miner said. 'We've only got air for an hour, maybe less.'
Zane glanced at his watch. 'Less,' he said.
'God, I don't want to die!' the second miner said.
'But I knew when I heard the cave-in start that it was hopeless. We were living on borrowed time anyway, with all the safety violations the company wouldn't fix. If I'd been smart, I'da gotten out of this business!'
'Where would you have gone?' the first miner asked.
The other sighed. 'Nowhere. I'm fooling myself; this is the only job I can handle.' He looked again at Zane. 'How much time?'
'Nine minutes,' Zane replied.
'Time enough to shrive me.'
'What?'
'Confess me. You know, my religion, final rites. I never was a good churchman, but I want to go to Heaven!'
The second miner laughed harshly. 'I know I'm not going there!'
Zane brought the Sinstone near. 'You are bound for Heaven,' he told the first. 'You are in doubt,' he told the second. 'That is why I must take your soul personally.'
'In doubt? What does that mean?'
'Your soul is balanced between good and evil, so it is uncertain whether you will go to Heaven or to Hell, or abide awhile in Purgatory.'
The man laughed. 'That's a relief!'
'A relief?'
'As long as I do go to one place or another. I don't care if it's Hell. I know I deserve it. I've cheated on my wife, stolen from the government — you name it, I've done it, and I'm ready to pay.'
'You don't fear Hell?'
'Only one thing I fear, and that is being in a cramped box like this, with the air running out and me helpless — for eternity. For an hour I can stand it, but not forever. I don't care what else happens to me, as long as it isn't that.'
'I care!' the first miner said. 'I'm so scared, I'm near gibbering!'
Zane considered. He realized that the dying needed someone to hold their hands, not to shun them. It was hard enough for any person to relate to the unrelatable. Zane had to try to help. 'I came for the one in balance, but I think the other needs my service more.'
'Sure, help him,' the balanced client said. 'I won't say I like dying, but I can handle it, I guess. I knew the odds when I signed up for this job. Maybe I'll like Hell.'
Zane sat beside the other. 'How can I help you?'
'Shrive me, I told you; that will help some.'
'But I'm no priest; I'm not even of your religion.'
'You are Death; you'll do!'
That must be true. 'Then I will listen and judge — but I know already your sin is not great.'
'One thing,' the man said, troubled. 'One thing's haunted me for decades. My mother — '
'Your mother!' Zane said, feeling a familiar shock.
'I think I killed her. I — ' The miner paused. 'Are you all right. Death? You look pale, even for you.'
'I understand about killing mothers,' Zane said.
'That's good. She — I was just a teenager when — well, she was in this wing of the hospital, and — '
'I understand,' Zane repeated. He reached out and took the man's hand. He knew his own gloved fingers felt like bare bones, but the miner did not shy away.
'She had cancer, and I knew she was in pain, but — '
Zane squeezed his hand. Reassured, the miner continued: 'I visited her, and one day she asked me to step outside the room and read what it said on the — you know, above the door, what kind of word it was. So I went out and looked, and there was something written there, but I couldn't read it. It was in Latin, I think. I went back and told her that, and she asked whether it was — she spelled it out, letter by letter, and you know, she was right, that's what it was. So I agreed that was it, wondering how she had known it, and she thanked me. I thought she was pleased.'
The miner took a shuddering breath. 'And next morning she was dead. The doctor said she seemed just to have given up and died in the night. No one knew why, because she had been fighting so hard to live before. But I — I checked into it and found out that that word in Latin I had spelled for her — it meant incurable. I had told her there was no hope, and so she quit trying. I guess I killed her.'
'But you didn't know!' Zane protested.
'I should have known. I should have — '
